


incandescence

by leedeeloo



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Domestic, Gen, glowy phobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:05:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7072318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leedeeloo/pseuds/leedeeloo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phobos can't find his sunglasses after a show. A new level of self-indulgence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	incandescence

It was a good show. A good signing.

They all filed backstage, to the green room, all of them fiddling with straps and pulling off gloves before the door even shut. Phobos was immediately to his little pile of belongings, searching. And searching.

He couldn’t find his sunglasses.

Somehow, just as he had that thought, Sung was behind him, asking, “what’s wrong, buddy?” Phobos just turned and looked at him, and that was enough for Sung to get it. “Phobos can’t find his glasses,” he announced, ever the leader. Instantly the other two stopped changing, onto lifting and moving things, trying to find them.

After a few minutes with nothing turning up though, it was obvious they weren’t to be found. Everyone else was half dressed. It was just easier for Phobos to wait for everyone else to change first. He was perched on a hard case, legs crossed and holding his ankles, trying to quell his worry. It wasn’t like they were special sunglasses, or his only pair or anything. It was just inconvenient. That’s all.

The other members of the band were changed- really, it was just a form of more casual and comfortable costumes- and Sung, the last one out, flicked off the light.

“We’ll start packing everything up. They should turn up when we start cleaning out in here.” Phobos just nodded in response, and Sung shut the door, leaving Phobos in not quite complete darkness.

He pulled off his helmet with one hand, pulled the hood of the spandex suit down with the other. The glow from his own skin, own hands, was enough for him to see as he put down the helmet. He stood, let out a deep sigh, and stretched, arching his back. His hands went to his face, heels of his hands pressed to eyelids before his fingers slid up to his hair, rubbing the scalp, trying to soothe the ache in his head.

Phobos was incredibly sensitive to light, normally sleeping during the day because the sun was bright enough to incapacitate him. The visor on his helmet was certainly strongest- it had to be, to protect him from the stage lights- but he was just especially sensitive today, leaving him feeling like he just watched the sunset. Even though it was night, the venue was lit well enough for humans, and he needed the sunglasses to painlessly see. They also helped cover up the fact his eyes were completely white and translucent. It would be a hassle to get outside without anyone noticing; he had contacts that looked like he had irises and pupils, but he hadn’t bothered to bring them in from the van that night, assuming he wouldn’t need them.

He took his time, pulling off each piece of armor and dropping it to the ground rather than putting it away right away. He was tired, eager to get out of the tight spandex, get into his clothes. It was like he never took anything off, his skin glowing a rich orange map where everything had been pressed against it. The lighting was uneven, a large amount coming from his shoulder, where his guitar strap sat. His fingers, the soles of his feet, those were just as bright; sore, tired, and tender.

It was actually pretty convenient. His hands were essentially flashlights, directed points of light.

That, however, was subdued as soon as he picked up his clothes. Nothing special jeans, and what he was excited for. Something he packed on tour especially for days like today when he was tired and sore and dealing with a persistent ache behind his eyes; an oversized sweater, soft and worn and his absolute favourite. It left bits of fleecy lint on his skin and other clothes whenever he wore it, and the sleeves were stretched to end well past his hands. The drawstring in the hood had been pulled out and lost long ago, so the only time the hood would stay on his head was when he was sleeping.

He was almost tempted to hug it.

But that would be silly.

He pulled his clothes on, working on autopilot, on habit, his fingers lingering over the same places, the same little edges. The button on his jeans, the seam ending at the opening of his right sleeve, the crisp little holes that used to be for a drawstring.

He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, rubbed his forearms to create a brighter glow. He wouldn’t be much help out in regular light, so he was going to do as much as he could in the dark by himself. There was also the hope that he’d find his glasses, and not have to practically cover his face with his hood.

Normally, with everyone working at it, packing up all their clothes and whatnot they brought in took barely five minutes. On his own though, Phobos still wasn’t done after fifteen minutes. Everything on stage would be done, starting to be packed into the van at least. There was this little spike of panic, like there was a deadline he was failing to meet. He stood up straight, stretching his back again, another sigh as he rolled his shoulders, trying to calm down from essentially nothing.

A knock at the door. He threw up his hood. It cracked open, light poured in and he squinted. Even though it was behind him, it was still too much.

“Hey,” the familiar and gruff voice of Meouch. Honestly, he had been expecting Sung, but as Meouch stepped in and shut the door behind him, Phobos _got_ it. Still, Meouch explained. “You’re taking forever.”

Well. He didn’t explain what Phobos was expecting him to. Really, he should’ve been used to it by now. Phobos didn’t even pretend to try explaining why he started clapping before doing anything with Meouch there, rightly guessing he’d figure it out.

It was quick work with the two of them. With everything stacked and ready to be taken to the van, it was pretty obvious Phobos’ sunglasses were nowhere to be found. And he was annoyed. Trying his best to hide it, but still annoyed.

There was a solid weight on his back- Meouch’s hand- shaking him gently, clasping over his shoulder. There was some shuffling sound as he dug in his pockets, and Phobos looked over at him.

Meouch grinning back at him, incisors just threatening to become an unnatural length. Holding up a pair of sunglasses. Not the pair Phobos had lost, but one of the many pairs he just left scattered around the van. He took them, huffed out an ‘oh-my-god’-esque sigh and put them on. Flicked on the light and motioned to everything.

Meouch laughed in that distinctive cackle practically until they were done bringing everything out. Phobos couldn’t help himself from smiling along, tight, embarrassed, and indulgent.

**Author's Note:**

> i return to fic! not with gg smut, but with domestic aliens. im not sure if this is a step up or down.


End file.
